When The Zombie Apocalypse Started, You Felt Only A Sense Of Sour Humor. Like On Those Nights When You

When the zombie apocalypse started, you felt only a sense of sour humor. Like on those nights when you wished you could sleep and never wake up, some cosmic entity heard you, and was taking a kind of sick vengeance.

Your friends laughed and stole liquor out of locked cabinets and took shots in the name of doom.

You went home and turned the tv all the way up and locked every single door twice. It wasn’t enough.

Don’t approach someone if they appear sick, they said. Avoid them and dial 911.

After a week they disabled emergency service lines.

Stay indoors. Only go out when necessary. Keep your distance from one another, they said.

Online, people called it a hoax.

But that footage they showed on the news, people emptied out and filled with some creature that knew only hunger, that snarled and lunged for those around them without hesitation…something in you knew without doubt that it wasn’t fake.

The government gave blinding smiles and sent every army they had. They promised everything would be fine.

Nothing would ever be fine again.

Bullets did nothing. No matter how wounded, those humans that were empty and vicious dragged themself with bloody nails after anything that pumped blood. Those soldiers died and came back, killing their friends and family and comrades.

The government stopped going on tv.

With all your precautions, with every warning you gave your friends who didn’t give a shit anymore, who took this as a sign to give up, with every tip you got from the news, it didn’t save you in the end.

Thousands, millions were dying every day and you…

One week after the start zombie apocalypse, you saw a dog. A pitiful, sick dog that whined at you and gave you mournful eyes, and you froze.

And you stopped.

And you knelt down next to it because you with your fear and your kind heart wanted to be a vet.

Because you, with all of your precaution and all of those warnings forgot everything.

A week and a day after the zombie apocalypse started, you lost control of your own body. You were filled with something so hungry every bone in your body ached.

That’s fine, you thought. I’ll die soon anyways. The people on the news said the host always died. That there wasn’t anything left inside.

Two weeks after the zombie apocalypse starts you realize that the people on the news were wrong.

You start screaming. No one bothers to try and save you.

The creature inside of you has been dragging you across this wretched planet for a month, and you crave death with the same fervor that it craves flesh. The news people, your neighbors, your family, they flee from you.

They cannot hear you begging for them to burn every scrap of you alive.

You wish they would.

Two months after the start of the zombie apocalypse the creature inside of you has run out of things to eat. You are starving. Everything hurts. Your heart is giving out.

At some point, the creature inside you starts to consume your body.

You should be dead by now

It won’t let you die

It eats your vocal cords. Rips them apart with your fingers, tears out your tongue. Peels off your flesh.

The pain consumes every thought until your nerves fry.

You count it as a blessing.

You lose your eyes, your fingers, every piece of you soon after.

You cannot bring yourself to care.

A year after the zombie apocalypse starts, your body gives out. You lie on something that feels like asphalt. The remains of your muscles and tendons and joints and bones twitch as the creature pulls once, twice, again, but you do not move.

You feel it then, as it leaves you lying there. The utter cruelty of it as it leaves you lying on the ground, when it has been the only thing keeping you alive for eleven months.

You have been dying for over a year. You have been dead in your mind for far longer.

You regret every thought you ever had about the zombie apocalypse, about the notion of quick death and reanimation.

You regret the things you didn’t do. The things you did. You can feel your heart, finally, give out.

You wish you could see the sky one more time as you slip into the dark.

But you haven’t had your eyes for a long, long while.

And with one last breath, you die alone on an empty street, with only the uncaring creature that stripped you for parts and murdered you slowly to watch you go.

Masterlist

Villain, Hero, Sidekick, etc.

Interrogation Meet Cute

Hero and Villain rescue civilian

Toxic Hero x Villain

Sapphic detective x girlfriend

Russian Villain x Hero with a Crush

Cat villain x Henchman who loves cats

Actor Hero x Flirty Actor Villain (mild horny jail)

Supervillain dad x son hero

Grieving hero x villain

Flirty Villain x Hero

Self Destructive Hero x Caretaker Villain

Protagonist x Mentor Villain

Immortal hero x immortal villain

Heaven and Hell

Poisoning part 2

Don’t hang up

Protect me

In my neighborhood bodega????

Gorgeous

Nothing more than dreams

“Please”

“Don’t Die”

Interrogation

Stars

Stolen Powers

Vampire Bait

Hero/villain forbidden

Hostage Situation

Valentine’s Day

I Made You

Drunk Hero

Enemies to….flirting?

Mask

You’re family

In Shock

Stop Letting Them Break You

Best Friends Forever

Deal

Vampire Thrall

Statues

You Weren’t Supposed to Poison Me Poison Part 2.

Map of Fae

Map of Fae pt. 2

What Would You Give

Magic Scars

Trapped Hero

Trapped Hero pt. 2

Savior

Escape

Origin Story

Bruises

She Wouldn’t Want This

Confession

Other Stuff

Truth Hurts

Zombie apocalypse

You ruined me

Thieves

Midnight

Nothing without me

Beware the Ides

New Gods

Bridge Troll

WIP: Edge of Truth Snippets

Glorious

Poetry

Stay

“You cannot run from me. I made you,” the villain soothed. The hero balked, like a frightened horse, all jerky limbs and anxiety.

“You may have made me, but you haven’t kept me.”

The villain looked disappointed, then, as if the hero was a petulant child.

“A fact I hope to remedy.”

The hero bared their teeth.

“Keep hoping, then.”

And they fled.

“Please,” she whispered. The villain paused.

A slow grin spread a cross their face.

“Begging so soon? Not very heroic.”

She laughed, and it hurt.

“Not heroic, no.”

The villain’s eyes narrowed, head tipping to the side as they regarded her.

Her eyes darted to the door, fear beginning to churn in her gut. Their face cleared as they followed her gaze, understanding writing itself on their skin.

“You’re afraid,” they observed. The villain stepped forward to where she knelt, knees digging into the ground. Their cool fingers wrapped around her chin and tipped her head up. “But not of me.”

She stilled, swallowing.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The villain tutted, smile vicious and victorious and soft.

“Don’t lie to a liar.”

She closed her mouth.

The villain traced soothing circles along her jaw with their thumb. “You’re afraid your friends will get here in time,” they said softly. The hero made to jerk away, and the villain’s nails dug into her skin, eyes flashing in warning. “You’re afraid they’ll make it here in time to save you.”

Bitterly, tears rose in her eyes.

“Please,” her voice broke. The villain was silent.

They sighed.

“Up you get,” they tugged her up, wrapping an arm around her waist when she wobbled on numb knees. She closed her eyes.

She expected pain, the sharpness of finality, the crisp bite of death—but it wasn’t there.

When she opened her eyes, the villain was watching her.

Her gut sank.

“You aren’t going to kill me.”

The villain shrugged a shoulder.

“Oh, of course not. You want to die. What could be more torturous for you than leaving you alive?”

This time, the panic that curled in her gut was for the villain.

“Let me go then,” she said. The villain’s grip was stone on her waist.

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I won’t kill you,” they reminded. They tugged her against them so swiftly she didn’t feel it happen. Their lips pressed against her ear.

“No, love. I’m going to turn you into another me.”

She could feel their grin against her ear.

They vanished, taking her with them, before her friends could get there.

Six months later, she picked her friends off. One. By. One.

And the city burned.

“I’m of the stars,” she confided. “I belong to them.”

She trailed a hand along the banister.

“But then, so does everyone else. The same material that makes up all of us is what makes up stars, you see?”

She tipped her head to one side in concession.

“I’m not made of stars in the way you are. I wield them, I control them, I breathe them. But they control me, too.”

They stared at her now, wide and terrified.

“They sing to me. It’s the kind of thing I can’t explain to you. I wouldn’t, even if I could.”

She paused.

“I wield the stars. And do you know what stars do?” She leaned forward, a breath from their face. “They burn.”

“We absolutely should not be doing this,” the hero whispered, but there wasn’t any heat to it. The other end of the line rustled as the villain laughed.

“There are a lot of things we shouldn’t be doing. Namely, I shouldn’t commit felonies, you shouldn’t talk to a felon…” their friend trailed off.

This time, the hero was the one who laughed. Outside, a bird began to chirp with the sunrise, and the villain sighed.

“Time distance.”

“Time distance,” the hero agreed, and by god if the miles weren’t a wound in itself.

“You should sleep,” the villain murmured. The hero hummed.

“Probably, yeah.”

Neither of them hung up.

“If I promise to call tomorrow, will you go to bed, please? For me?”

The hero sniffed, eyes heavy as the sun peeked through their blinds.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie.”

The hero slumped backwards. “I won’t hang up though.”

The villain laughed, softly, with an affection the hero didn’t want to think about.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, once again,” but the hero knew they smiled as they said. The line clicked off.

—————————

“Hey, Sunshine. Committing nefarious acts of kindness and good deeds, I take it?”

“Hey,” the hero was breathless, hand pressed against their side. It came back bloody.

Any humor dropped from the villain’s voice in an instant.

“You’re hurt.”

The hero managed a pathetic laugh, flinching.

“Just a little.”

“It doesn’t sound like a little.”

The hero eyed their wound, swallowing.

“Absolutely just a little.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the kid of a hero, because love, you absolutely suck at lying.”

The hero tried to pretend something didn’t warm in their stomach at the endearment.

“I have…bandages. And antiseptic. And some good old natural dirt to rub into it if all else fails.”

The villain sighed on the other end of the line, and the hero knew they were rubbing their brow. For some reason, despite the pain, it made the hero grin.

“I’m fine,” they promised, and when the villain stayed silent, they said it again. “I’m fine.”

“If you die I’ll be mad at you.”

“Fairly certain that is the wrong sentiment for a villain to have towards a hero—“

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

The hero slapped some tape around the edge of the gauze, blood still dried around the edges.

“Yes.”

The relief was palpable.

“Good. Go to bed.”

“You’ll call again?”

“Promise.”

The hero smiled.

“Pinkie.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

“You wouldn’t happen to have a flamethrower I could borrow, do you?”

The hero blinked, holding the phone away from their face for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be, I just need one,” the villain snorted, and a loud crash sounded in the background.

“What on earth are you doing?” Concern rolled in the hero’s gut. The villain laughed.

“You’re going to want plausible deniability sunshine.”

“Right,” they paused. “But why a flamethrower?”

“It has flames, it throws them, what else could I ask for in an object?”

“I can throw flames.” Even though the villain couldn’t see it, the hero let a spark flicker on their finger tips.

“And again,” the villain’s voice lowered. “What more could I ask for?”

The hero didn’t have a response to that, but the villain somehow, like they always did, knew that.

“Any bruises I should know about?”

“And what would you do about them? You live on the other side of the country,” the hero teased.

“I can steal a fighter jet in less than half an hour.”

The hero blinked at the seriousness in the villain’s tone. They laughed, nervously.

“Please don’t do that.”

The villain sighed. “You ruin my fun.”

“I haven’t arrested you, so I think that should get me brownie points.”

“You live on the other side of the country,” the villain parroted.

“I could get there faster than a fighter jet,” the hero said. The villain snorted again.

“Will you—“

“Call again? Pinkie.”

The hero smiled. “Promise.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

The hero picked up the phone on the third ring, smiling.

“Hey trouble maker, what’s—”

All they got in response was a pained wheeze.

“Villain,” the hero said, gut plummeting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the villain bit out, breath short. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

The villain gave something that was either a laugh or a sob.

“Mhm.”

“What’s going on,” their voice broke, and the villain fell silent.

“It’s going to be okay,” they murmured. And the hero knew.

Innately, in a painful, wretched way, they knew.

“My dad is there.”

Their dad, the superhero. Their dad, who had forbidden them from ever speaking.

Their dad, who wanted the villain, their villain, dead.

The villain made a quiet noise of ascent.

“I’m coming—”

“You won’t make it.”

The hero stilled.

“How bad is it?” Their hands were shaking. They couldn’t find their suit, why couldn’t they find their suit—

“Too fast for a fighter jet,” the villain tried, voice too light and wet with tears.

The hero slammed a drawer closer, throwing open the door to the basement, searching for something, anything.

“I can be faster,” they grit out, breathless. Their chest hurt.

“Not that fast.”

“Please,” the hero sobbed, and on the other end of the line, the villain did too.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t want to,” the villain swore. They coughed, and it was a deathly thing.

Something slammed in the background on the end of the line, and the hero’s fingers clenched around the phone.

“What was that?”

The villain let out a pained whine, phone crackling as they shifted away, before their voice came over the speaker again.

“I’ll call again tomorrow.”

The hero’s face was wet.

“Promise?”

The villain let out a small sob, but they still sounded like they were smiling, soft with affection.

“Pinkie.”

The hero didn’t mean to say what came next.

“I love you.”

The villain didn’t even pause, breath hitching. “I love you too.”

The line crackled.

“Sunshine, I need you to do something for me now,” the villain rasped, voice choked with pain and tears and love and fear. “I need you to hang up.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“No—”

“Please,” the villain took a sharp breath through their nose, and it sounded painful. “Just this once. I can’t do it this time.”

“Villain,” the hero began, but the villain cut them off as something crashed in the background once more.

It sounded like a building falling.

It sounded like the hero breaking, too.

“Sunshine,” the villain pleaded. “Just once. I’ll-I’ll call you back. I swear.”

They could both taste the lie.

The hero sniffed.

The villain sobbed.

And for the first time, the hero hung up.

The villain never called them back.